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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25098862">Extinguished</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bandicoot/pseuds/Bandicoot'>Bandicoot</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gotham (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(it's vague and minimal but if you want a detailed/nsfw version, Canon Compliant, Caretaker Ed, Couch Sex, Ed vs Olga (just a little bit), Eye Trauma, First Aid, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Gotham Parallels, Guilty Ed, Implied Sexual Content, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Episode: s05e11 They Did What?, Season/Series 05, Sentimental Oswald, check the notes for the fic on that), sentimental Ed, that night on the couch parallels</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:08:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,025</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25098862</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bandicoot/pseuds/Bandicoot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The fire creates an eerie ambience the way it crackles, the popping noises like the beating of the hearts they both feel inside them. A disarray of emotions and the high they're experiencing in this dangerous dance they've created for themselves, basking in the flickering orange that is their stage light.</p><p>Part 1 of <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25559311">Reignite</a> (part 2 is NSFW, and doesn't have to be read if you're a non-NSFW reader).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>121</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Extinguished</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Wrote this as my contribution to the 'Summer of Smut' event (SOS) going on in our Discord, but I decided to split them into 2 separate fics, since the fic as a whole doesn't have that much E rated content, and I wanted non-E rated readers to still enjoy this.</p><p>Sequel link in summery.</p><p>Italics = thoughts/emphasis on words during dialogue.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Edward's peripherals spotted the unique way Oswald's body moved, non-discreetly, but with an air of grace, obtaining the knife stashed away on his leg brace. Oswald's foolishness of underestimating him, again, made the laugh in his throat want to escape, but he kept it contained, his laughter flowing throughout the circuits of his brain. Fixated on his own reflection he may be, but a fool he wasn't, despite falling victim to his own incompetence on more times he would like to admit. Underestimating seemed to be a norm with them, somehow finding a crack to squeeze into their already broken relationship.</p><p class="western">“Let's make a pact. Here and now. We will take <em>what</em> we want, from <em>who</em> we want, and we will suffer no fools.” Oswald's single eye held the embodiment of fire as he spoke, an animalistic desire there for power. His bandaged eye seeping with blood, coating the cloth and cheek below, unnecessarily emphasizing the image of the already vicious creature that was the Penguin.</p><p class="western">Edward's bore that of well crafted steel, its edges donned too perfect, its surface too cold, as he considered Oswald.</p><p class="western">“Together,” he replied, smiling in agreement at Oswald's proposal. Hidden from view, his hand held his own knife, while extending his other hand towards Oswald in a welcoming gesture. “Shall we shake on that?”</p><p class="western">“<em>Please</em>, we're brothers. A hug.” The shake in Oswald's words wasn't missed, nor was that bastard of a smile.</p><p class="western">So be it.</p><p class="western">“A hug it is.” Edward flicks his blade open.</p><p class="western">The fire creates an eerie ambiance the way it crackles, the popping noises like the beating of the hearts they both feel inside them. A disarray of emotions and the high they're experiencing in this dangerous dance they've created for themselves, basking in the flickering orange that is their stage light. Standing proud, they linger, careful in how they tread their shoes over already cracked glass of blood and betrayal, their teeth hidden beneath their skin, prowling towards one another like wolves.</p><p class="western">Lone wolves.</p><p class="western">One last hug, for old time's sake, to seal the deal. Personal, even if the other risked dying themselves, because they deserved that much at least. An unwritten rule between the two of them, of mutual respect. Fate had brought them this far. Why cut the thread now? One would live and one would die. They're too dangerous for each other. Betrayal would always find its way back. Best to end it quickly and move on. With knives at the ready, braced to inflict the blow while they're wrapped up in one another, the seconds tick by, and with each one, it becomes harder and harder to follow through.</p><p class="western">Oswald had potentially lost an eye saving Edward's life, and for what? For Edward to backstab him anyway. He doesn't regret it. If Edward should die then it would be him to do it. Edward doesn't deserve to be killed by a stray grenade, his name maimed forever while Oswald had to live with that. No. Oswald would look in the mirror and wear his injury like a badge. A reminder of the struggles it took for him to get here and the acknowledgement of their history. For Edward. It's almost romantic.</p><p class="western">He'd remember Edward's face when they were properly antiquated, eager and naive and so ready to please. Oswald had him in the palm of his hand and regrets not falling in love sooner. What a fool. Locked up at the GCPD, he'd asked Edward to place lilies on his mother's grave. One last moment of kindness before being separated. He often wondered what Edward told her, and how often he visited. Of the time he was mayor and the lengths Edward went to for Oswald to be loved, at the risk of his own life, and again when Butch had his hands around Edward's neck. Everything was so perfect, like a fairytale. Until it wasn't, Oswald unknowingly at the time to become the story's witch and ruin everything. Every story has a beginning, a middle, and an end, and now they stand on the last page, ready for their book to close.</p><p class="western">He can look back and accept Edward's attitude, and the retaliation he took against Oswald. They only had each other at the time, but Edward had found someone else to share his life with. Who wouldn't want to grasp onto that? He still questions Edward's decision to date a literal clone, but still, it wasn't Oswald's choice to interfere.</p><p>
  <em>'It's the least I could do.'</em>
</p><p class="western">But was it enough? Had Edward truly forgiven him for it? Perhaps he should let Edward kill him after all. He can't stand another heartbreak. He just wants his friend back. Edward has been a constant in his life over the years, even when they were at odds with each other. If he does this, he'll be alone. Again. He can't. He won't. If he dies, at least he'll be free, and perhaps able to reunite with his mother and father.</p><p class="western">Despite the betrayals, Edward always knew deep down what Oswald meant to him. Oswald acknowledged that he was a bad friend, and owned to the killing of Isabella. The man was always there when death seemed certain, like Gotham's version of a guardian angel, but more crooked. Whether it was on that pier or in the Narrows, Oswald found him, and every time would forgive Edward's actions. The Penguin was known to kill for much less. Edward's surprised Oswald hasn't killed him already, but... it seems now is as good as any.</p><p class="western">Edward saw death in the face when that grenade landed close to them, the event playing on loop in his mind too fast and too slow simultaneously, the phantom touch of Oswald crashing into him still present. Not only did Oswald save him, he put his life on the line, adding another scar to his already wounded body.</p><p>
  <em>'Love is about sacrifice.'</em>
</p><p class="western">No one saw Edward Nygma like Oswald Cobblepot did.</p><p class="western">He'd love to trust Oswald, but history seemed to be repeating itself. Lee had wanted to remain in Gotham, choosing the city over him, and now he's experiencing another knife on him, in the name of love. God forbid he die again the same way.</p><p class="western">
  <em>'It means fate has different plans for us.'</em>
</p><p class="western">He wants to believe that, hopes Oswald feels it too, or whether to both die in this library, knowing no one would bring them back. All their achievements up to this point would count for nothing. He shakes his head, because he can't, won't, do this.</p><p class="western">Gotham was <em>theirs</em>.</p><p class="western">For Oswald, hugging Edward feels like home as much as the city itself. There's no Gotham without Edward Nygma. No Gotham without Oswald Cobblepot. He'd been searching for a place he could truly call home within the city, when it was in front of him all this time. He's aware that he could die any second now, but at least it'll be where he's most comfortable. The feeling is however equally crushing if Edward goes through with it. At least he won't feel the pain for long, emotionally that is. Every scar on his body, but his heart will always be the most fragile part of him.</p><p class="western">He allows himself to cry, a shaky breath escaping him as he takes comfort in squeezing Edward tighter, no longer fighting what will happen. There's no place he'd rather die than here.</p><p class="western">The knife doesn't come, his emotions in turmoil when Edward crushes him in a hug with that gloved hand, the sound of squeezing leather at his shoulder. Edward cares about him, and in Gotham, one friend is enough to quench the loneliness. Everyone leaves him, sometimes through fault of his own, sometimes unintentionally, sometimes with betrayal. Each have their own kind of sting.</p><p class="western">The two withdraw, Oswald awkwardly shoving the knife away like it never happened, unknowingly that he'd already been seen withdrawing the weapon. As always, they both remain so close without touching, staring at each other in an unspoken intimacy like it's a ritual.</p><p class="western">“Life begins anew,” Oswald declares after sniffling down his feelings.</p><p class="western">Edward's movements are more subtle, tucking the knife away unnoticed as he smiles, warm, a chain reaction that has Oswald doing the same.</p><p class="western">“Shall we get to work?” Edward proposes.</p><p class="western">Oswald nods in agreement.</p><p class="western">The thought of stabbing Oswald irks Edward as he looks into his face, noticeably the blood concealing Oswald's face, the injury maiming him potentially for life.</p><p class="western">Edward finds himself staring, reminded of his incompetence to move, because that would be the logical thing to do.</p><p class="western">The Riddler does not <em>freeze</em>.</p><p class="western">This is his fault.</p><p class="western">“We should change your dressing,” he says, already removing himself from Oswald's space. From <em>his</em> mistake.</p><p class="western">Edward doesn't want to look at the blood, ruining Oswald's face with its life source. He can change the dressing, hide the ugliness away and pretend the injury isn't there.</p><p class="western">He's good at pretending.</p><p class="western">The cloth over Oswald's eye was the best he could do up until now, but the library's kitchen has a first aid kit, mostly used up during Edward's time living here. No saline though, so he'll have to opt for salt water. He makes his way to the room, on the way noticing Oswald limp to the chair he was once perched on, before entering within to collect the supplies.</p><p class="western">Oswald's memorized by the fire next to him, only noticing Edward's return when he's standing next him, the footsteps drowned out by the burning of wood. He looks up, a hesitant smile to greet Edward with, though Edward seems even more hesitant to smile back. Strange...</p><p class="western">Edward kneels at Oswald's feet, setting down a bowl of salt water with a cloth in it, Oswald sitting up straight to give Edward better access and get this over with. The old rag and handkerchief are carefully removed, Edward wincing at the sight before tossing the items into a nearby bin. Exposing the injury allows the skin to breathe for a moment, but it also creates a flow of blood down Oswald's cheek that Edward's keen to stop.</p><p class="western">“This is likely to hurt,” Edward warns, holding up another piece of wet cloth, addressing Oswald for when he's ready.</p><p class="western">“Nothing I'm not used to,” Oswald replies, bracing himself on the arms of the chair to dig his nails into.</p><p class="western">Edward doesn't apply much pressure to begin with, wanting Oswald to get used to the touch on his skin as Edward wipes away the blood. The cloth is rinsed several times of its pink dye, applying more pressure with his cleaning, especially when removing blood that had dried, collecting less fresh blood with each visit until the flow ceases. He gathers up the other cloth, squeezing the excess of salt water from it and placing it over Oswald's eye.</p><p class="western">“Hold this in place until I say you can remove it,” he instructs.</p><p class="western">At least five minutes would suffice, noting the current time of ten forty-four, so ten forty-nine. Nothing more, nothing less, just the necessary amount to keep Oswald's health intact. Was he always like this during their time in No Man's Land? Oswald getting caught up in gang fights and whatnot, and Edward's desire to fetch a bandage and other tools for whatever Oswald had gotten himself into it. Their relationship was still very shaky up until the Penn incident, though Edward realizes now he'd fallen into old habits of... <em>before</em>.</p><p class="western">He'd still resented Oswald, not trusting him completely when putting the submarine together, but deep down he knew what he really wanted, shoved away at his core somewhere, shielded with barriers of self-hatred, doubt and bitterness.</p><p class="western">Their fingers brush when Oswald's hand takes over to hold onto the cloth.</p><p class="western">“I'll make us some tea,” Edward offers.</p><p class="western">He returns to the kitchen area, switching on the kettle and prepares the tea, wanting to busy himself while waiting for the minutes to pass. The night's events are with him again, his mind not distracted enough to think otherwise while he waits for the kettle to boil. The steam coming out of it get large, and it's too alike to the smoke of the battlefield that he has to look away until it stops, cursing at the ridiculousness of it all.</p><p class="western">Returning to Oswald with two cups in hand, he sets them down on a small table.</p><p class="western">“That should be enough,” he says, gesturing at Oswald's eye.</p><p class="western">Oswald hands him the cloth for him to dispose of, quick to get to work on the dressing. He places a cotton pad over Oswald's eye and uses gauze to secure it in place around the head tightly, but not uncomfortable.</p><p class="western">“There.” He looks at Oswald for confirmation that it's satisfactory.</p><p class="western">“Thank you, Ed.” Oswald smiles at him and Edward doesn't like it.</p><p class="western">Edward leaves to pull up a small table next to Oswald's chair, fetching one cup and placing it there and takes his own seat opposite Oswald.</p><p class="western">“So what's first on our agenda?” he asks, picking up his mug for a sip. The heat in his hands doesn't half comfort him.</p><p class="western">“Well since we won't be living in City Hall anymore, I instructed Olga to go back to the manor. It's been over a year since I lived there...” Oswald takes a sip of tea.</p><p class="western">“Sounds like a plan. It'll beat living here. City Hall was... better, but no paradise. Uh... no offence,” Edward adds, realizing it may have sounded ungrateful.</p><p class="western">“None taken,” Oswald cheerfully assures, shaking his head. “It'll be good to live in a home once more. Being away from such familiarity has been... difficult.”</p><p class="western">Edward can relate. He misses that manor too, but then it occurred to him; they haven't both lived there together since Oswald was mayor. The feeling is a little perplexing, but he wants a place he can call home again.</p><p class="western">“No Man's Land challenged us all,” he declares, regrettably looking at the spot where Oswald's other eye would be.</p><p class="western">Oswald thankfully doesn't notice, enjoying the warm beverage like it's the best thing to have happened to him today.</p><p class="western">But nothing could top saving Edward's life.</p><p class="western">Plans are discussed in the midst of their tea sipping until the cups are empty, and Oswald proposes going back to the manor tonight in fact. Surprising, but it's better than sleeping in the library. Oswald orders one of his men to pick them up.</p><p class="western">On the way there, Edward finds himself more jittery than expected, but he hides it well enough that it goes unnoticed. The whole day has been surreal.</p><p class="western">Little is said when they walk through the doors of the manor, greeting Ogla who is currently dusting the place down, announcing that she had worked on their old rooms first, as instructed.</p><p class="western">“That'll be all. Thank you, Olga. Myself and Ed are heading to bed. Perhaps call it a night yourself. The manor can be sorted out tomorrow,” Oswald expresses.</p><p class="western">“Will do,” Olga answers, her Russian accent thick. “I finish up and go. Goodnight.”</p><p class="western">It really was like coming home for Edward.</p><p class="western">The two make their way to the second floor.</p><p class="western">“Well... goodnight,” Oswald says, leaving Edward behind, expecting him to be in his room when he looks back, or about to be. He's surprised when he finds him looking at something on the wall. The man has hardly moved from where Oswald left him.</p><p class="western">“Ed?”</p><p class="western">“Hmm?” Edward didn't count on Oswald checking on him.</p><p class="western">“Are you okay?”</p><p class="western">
  <em>He sounds concerned...</em>
</p><p class="western">“I... Yes. Just tired. Goodnight, Oswald.”</p><p class="western">Oswald doesn't get a chance to say anything before Edward dives into his room, quickly closing the door behind him. Curious and slightly disturbed, Oswald approaches whatever Edward was looking that may have caused such a reaction.</p><p class="western">He almost gasps at the image.</p><p class="western">It's a framed photograph of them during his days as mayor. Faces of not so long ago, but feels otherwise. Younger, vibrant... in love. Perhaps not yet in a romantic sense, but platonic that maybe it could have been. They look so happy, delighting in the other's company. Their expressions shine through the glass as if to mock him of the thing he ruined.</p><p class="western">He deserves it.</p><p class="western">Returning to his room would be wise, but he's compelled to reach out, touch the glass, fingertips connecting through time, somehow wishing he could go back.</p><p class="western">
  <em>You fool...</em>
</p><p class="western">He catches himself tearing up, snatching his hand back and retires to his room to rest his weary eyes, or whatever is left of them.</p><p class="western"> </p><hr/><p><br/><br/>The next morning consists of more of Olga cleaning the place, her presence lingering around the boys while they idly chitchat over breakfast she and Edward had put together. It was partially what she's paid to do, content with how she handles things, only to find her routine being threatened when Edward invites himself into the kitchen, insisting that he help with breakfast. Olga tries to get him to leave, but he already decides he's staying to help. Arguing with him made his already insufferable existence worse when he felt the need to critique her ways. Best to just let him get on with it so he can leave faster. Still, she didn't appreciate his interference on her side of the room.</p><p class="western">“Long arms, careful,” Olga groans, worried Edward would knock over the salmon that was cooking.</p><p class="western">“<em>Sorry</em>,” Edward smirks, bitter and fake, returning to his side of the room with flour in hand.</p><p class="western">He'd woken up before Oswald, believing he'd change Oswald's dressing when he would awaken, but walked into the kitchen to find Olga already doing it. Why was <em>she</em> doing it? That was <em>his</em> job! So he tried making up for it with his own addition to breakfast. Olga was good at her job, but Edward hated feeling useless, hanging around like a leftover piece of a tool kit.</p><p class="western">He decides to make crepes topped with strawberries and raspberries and dosed in honey. According to Oswald, he would occasionally have a sweet breakfast during No Man's Land, but it was more convenient to just opt for easier dishes such as meat, toast or cereal. Not to mention that his staff's cooking wasn't that sought after, but Edward had a knack for cooking, not that crepes were hard to make.</p><p class="western">After wolfing down the smoked salmon bagel with cream cheese that Olga had prepared him, Oswald digs into his crepe, and happiness appears on his face, while well hidden guilt in the form of a bashful smile is returned.</p><p class="western">Shortly after Oswald leaves to shower, Edward directs his attention to a certain someone. He has a bone to pick.</p><p class="western">“Olga,” Edward waits until she's looking at him, “a word?” he adds, inviting her over with a finger, trying to appear slightly intimidating.</p><p class="western">Olga just looks unimpressed.</p><p class="western">“Da?” She makes her way over, broom in hand almost defensively.</p><p class="western">Edward crosses his arms.</p><p class="western">“While you certainly do well on the manor, in the future, refrain from interfering with Oswald's injury. It requires a delicate hand and mind and I'm much more suited to that role.”</p><p class="western">Olga pushes out her lips, pouting and rolling her eyes. She doesn't know if Penguin is lucky or cursed to have such a man around. She supposes it's in Penguin's best interest to have someone like Edward around, despite how she feels about him.</p><p class="western">Penguin needs a good man in his life.</p><p class="western">“Fine,” she replies begrudgingly, ending any further conversation with the man by walking away to continue her chores.</p><p class="western">As Edward turns, an item catches his eyes, situated on a table; Oswald's red-tinted glasses. He wanders over, drawn to the item, a piece of history tied to Oswald. Carefully, he pinches at the frames, lifting the item up for further inspection. Cracked, practically useless now. Sentimental value? Knowing Oswald, it could well be. The sentiment isn't lost on Edward either. He rubs a thumb over the cracked lens, feeling the indents of once smooth glass, damaged and with a story to tell.</p><p class="western">He'd put them back, but an irrational fear of them being thrown away doesn't sit well with him.</p><p class="western">When Olga spots him again, she catches sight of the glasses sticking out of his breast pocket.</p><p> </p><hr/><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Evening finally settles around them, the day filled up of phone calls, paperwork, cleaning and reorganizing some of the manor's furniture, while other moments were spent enjoying each other's company.</p><p class="western">And Edward does, lost in his dear friend's face that the pain of the injury almost isn't there. But he knows it's there, sugar-coated with words of fondness and good memories the two shared together. He knows, but he does his best to ignore it.</p><p class="western">That is, until he has to change Oswald's dressing.</p><p class="western">A small part of him is thankful for Olga's interference, but he knows this is his burden to deal with. He caused this, and why he hates that, wants to take responsibility, try to fix his wrong with enough rights, even though no matter how much good he does, it can't outweigh his mistake. At least he can lessen it. He hopes Oswald knows that, wants Oswald to look at him with as little disdain as possible. Can't hope for any more than that.</p><p class="western">Oswald's sat on the sofa by the fire, the warmth easing into his fingers while making Edward's forehead sweat more than it already is as he kneels in front of the sofa, water soaked cloth in hand. Edward takes note of the way Oswald's eye is looking past him, distant while the flesh around his vision is dabbed with the cloth which stings.</p><p class="western">Edward prefers the lack of attention of once, removing himself from the situation somewhat and the feelings that linger on his skin. A nurse and their patient. A professional relationship. That's what they were, right?</p><p class="western">The popping of wood in the fire soothes him while simultaneously creating an atmosphere he doesn't want to get too attached too. The setting is... too intimate. Memories of long ago are on his mind, words spoken back at him in his head, gestures he now looks at from a different angle, the touch of Oswald's hand on the back of his shoulder...</p><p class="western">
  <em>Focus...</em>
</p><p class="western">A repeat of last night, handing Oswald the salt water cloth to keep in place as Edward takes it as his cue to leave. He can't bear to sit around and...</p><p class="western">“Wait...”</p><p class="western">
  <em>Dammit.</em>
</p><p class="western">Oswald's voice sounds like a plea, and Edward can't find it in himself to ignore it.</p><p class="western">“Yes?”</p><p class="western">“Sit with me? I find it less boring holding <em>this</em> to my face if I had someone to talk to.”</p><p class="western">Edward knows he shouldn't, should just run instead of looking at Oswald hold a cloth to his face, to his <em>eye,</em> reminding Edward of his mistake.</p><p class="western">The Riddler does not make <em>mistakes</em>.</p><p class="western">“Of course,” he complies, taking a seat to Oswald's left on the couch. Perhaps sitting side by side means he doesn't have to look directly in Oswald's direction. He prefers it this way. “What's on your mind?”</p><p class="western">
  <em>Don't talk about the eye, don't talk about the eye...</em>
</p><p class="western">From this angle, Edward can focus on Oswald's good eye more, the other partially hidden, the light of the fire pulsating over the cloth that spreads to his cheeks, like a heartbeat.</p><p class="western">Edward doesn't know if he can feel his or not.</p><p class="western">“Olga's done a fine job on the manor, hasn't she? I've missed living here...” Oswald fondly comments, gesturing the the space around them with his vacant hand.</p><p class="western">
  <em>This isn't right...</em>
</p><p class="western">“Me too.”</p><p class="western">They don't say anything else for a while, Edward fidgeting with his fingers on what to say, if to say anything. He wonders if Oswald is doing the same. This scenario is scarily parallel to the time Edward had been hurt, sat on this couch by the fire, Oswald bringing him tea.</p><p class="western">“Why'd you do it?”</p><p class="western">He doesn't know if he should be asking this, because he doesn't know what answer he'll get, or what to do with it, but the question won't let him rest until it's satisfied. He <em>needs</em> to know.</p><p class="western">“Do what?”</p><p class="western">Edward hates this, hates that he has to explain it to Oswald because <em>shouldn't it be obvious?</em></p><p class="western">“You nearly died yesterday.”</p><p class="western">“What else is new?” Oswald chuckles. “It's not the first time and I doubt it will be the last.”</p><p class="western">True, but...</p><p class="western">“That's... not what I <em>meant</em>.” Edward's borderline annoyed now.</p><p class="western">Oswald knows what Edward is referring, knows that the subject is dancing around them, an orchestrated theme, waiting for someone to add the words.</p><p class="western">“Call it an overdue settlement. Or karma. One of the two,” Oswald shrugs, suddenly tired on where this was heading. He looks at the fire for comfort, not wanting to deal with Edward's face right now.</p><p class="western">“No score to settle if the person isn't around.”</p><p class="western">Edward Nygma, smartest man in Gotham, able to solve the most complex of puzzles, couldn't see the obvious.</p><p class="western">Oswald turned to face him slightly, bringing back the occupied hand into Edward's view.</p><p class="western">“What kind of friend would I be to let you <em>die</em>? Haven't we already discussed this?” He's growing more irksome as this conversation goes on.</p><p class="western">Assuming Edward had nothing to add by the silence that continued, Oswald lazily goes back to watching the fire again.</p><p class="western">“Why did you pull a knife on me then?”</p><p class="western">Oswald's taken by surprise at that. He thought he was being subtle, but obviously not well enough. Edward was so engrossed with himself that he thought it'd go unnoticed. He lets out an exasperated huff.</p><p class="western">“You were being so distant, what was I <em>supposed</em> to think? I figured you'd stab me in the back again... metaphorically speaking. You think I'd lose an eye for you and then kill you later just because I <em>can</em>? Not very logical now is it?”</p><p class="western">“I didn't ask you to do that!” Edward didn't expect this to turn into a fight. He doesn't want to fight.</p><p class="western">“It wasn't your choice to make!”</p><p class="western">“But i- it-,” Edward's voice cuts off, emotions getting the better of him. He's never been good with them, doesn't know how to decipher the meanings and logic behind it all. It doesn't make sense, and he <em>hates</em> it. <em>Everything</em> has a reason for happening.</p><p class="western">The sound of Edward's breaking voice causes Oswald to turn around completely, the shock of hearing (and now seeing) Edward so discomposed quite an alien sight. This shouldn't be upsetting Edward as much as it is. Something's... off.</p><p class="western">“Ed?”</p><p class="western">Oswald tries to reach out, touch his arm, but Edward flinches at the contact, trying to distance himself on the couch before attempting to stand, Oswald instinctively pulling him back down with a hard grip on his arm.</p><p class="western">“Ed! <em>Talk</em> to me.” Oswald's voice is firm but not threatening, though it feels a little like that to Edward.</p><p class="western">The look on Edward's face is a mixture of emotions. Oswald can tell he's stressed, but he looks panicky, perturbed... It makes Oswald's insides curl with uneasiness.</p><p class="western">Edward's right arm is still in a solid grip, and he doesn't know whether to yank himself free or just let it happen, the touch both terrifying and comforting at the same time. He knows what he <em>should</em> do, knows he can't keep running, knows he can't keep up this facade.</p><p class="western">“I... I don't know how,” he replies weakly. He knew the answer to every question out there, but here he feels at a loss.</p><p class="western">“Don't think about it too much. Just tell me what you feel, what's on your mind. You're scaring me,” Oswald whispers.</p><p class="western">
  <em>You're not the only one...</em>
</p><p class="western">“I just... didn't move, when it was the most <em>obvious</em> thing to do, and it got you hurt.” His chest feels tight with shame.</p><p class="western">“We all make mistakes, Ed, it's not your fault. We were in a war zone. People freeze up all the time. It's normal.”</p><p class="western">Oswald loosens his grip on Edward's arm, but still keeps it there to provide Edward comfort, not to mention himself.</p><p class="western">“I'm not most people, Oswald. I made an error, something so <em>simple!</em>”</p><p class="western">“Ed... you may not like what I'm about to say, but you're not perfect.” The statement is said with a smile, the words not coming off as rude at all. “You're allowed to make mistakes. I've made my fair share of mine. Just let it go... it's fine, okay?”</p><p class="western">Oswald begins to remove his hand from Edward's arm, but it's snatched back, and Edward doesn't quite understand why he's done it. Well, he knows <em>why, </em>but he doesn't know how to proceed, doesn't have a plan like he usually always does. But he wants to be close to Oswald, doesn't want to let him out of his sight in fear that he'll get hurt again. Edward vouches to at least try very hard not to allow something like this to happen again.</p><p class="western">Oswald looks at his encased hand for a second, then at Edward's face in search of an answer. He's as clueless as Edward is.</p><p class="western">“That should be enough,” Edward says, indicating to the cloth over Oswald's eye before picking up the supplies.</p><p class="western">Edward works in silence as he makes quick work of securing Oswald's eye with the gauze, using the short amount of time for an opportunity to think, but his thoughts bounce off of each other, none really the wiser before he started.</p><p class="western">One last knot and he's finished, drawing back to admire his work.</p><p class="western">“Thank you,” Oswald says.</p><p class="western">“Don't mention it.”</p><p class="western">The atmosphere is rather awkward, moods having gone up and down, to reach to whatever they were at now.</p><p class="western">“Ed, are you okay...?”</p><p class="western">Oswald looks at Edward with his remaining good eye, watching Edward's gaze that seem to fall on his hands, fingers interlocked as they rest on his thighs.</p><p class="western">“Oswald... I want you to know something.” Edward can't believe he's doing this, but the thought of the alternative kills him, not that he feels much better in his decision.</p><p class="western">He allows silence to settle around them for a moment, thankful that Oswald doesn't break it, choosing to just give Edward the time he needs.</p><p class="western">“That time, when Butch had his hands around my throat, you'd been my saviour. Yesterday, you shielded me from a grenade, and you saved me, <em>again</em>.”</p><p class="western">Edward stops again, silence once again bearing down on them, and the whole thing feels like drowning.</p><p class="western">Oswald's heart beats in that naive way that he grew to loath, foolishly believing he'll be granted the news he's always wanted to hear. Even now, alarm bells go off, the flashing of red like a GCPD siren, warning him of the danger, but the implication is so hard to ignore, wishing that <em>this time</em> it could be different. Edward's choice of words could be coincidental, but Edward's usually very punctual in his phrases. Oswald's taken back to that night when he'd handed Edward a cup of ginger tea with honey, here, on this very couch, the fire dancing in the background. It's uncanny.</p><p class="western">“And I said... that I'd do anything for you.” Another pause, watching Oswald's pupils dilate. “That hasn't changed. Maybe once it had, but today, that statement still stands.”</p><p class="western">Edward can only hope Oswald spots the parallels. He's prepared to lay down the clues, but he wants Oswald to be the one to act, to know where they stand and not cross any lines Oswald doesn't want him standing over.</p><p class="western">Fortunately (or unfortunately?), Oswald does, not quite sure what to do with this information, this <em>prompt</em> that Edward appears to have laid down for him, to use as a means of moving forward. Thinking about it too much frightens him, so he doesn't think, allows his body to answer instead. He moves closer to Edward, still allowing him to remove himself from the situation if this is somehow all wrong, but is relieved when Edward doesn't.</p><p class="western">“Is this the part where I hug you?” Oswald asks softly, looking at Edward's lips, then his eyes.</p><p class="western">“Not particularly. I'd rather you do <em>something else</em> this time around,” Edward replies, his brown eyes appearing honey-amber by the fire's blaze, determined, yet calm looking. “Unless that's what you want...” He won't push Oswald.</p><p class="western">“It isn't...” Oswald smiles calmly, having all the confirmation he needs to move forward, Edward doing the same.</p><p class="western">The touch of Edward's soft lips on his has Oswald whole inner being shaking, his heart rapid fire at feeling something so unusual, so <em>right, </em>gripping onto Edward's arms for emotional support.</p><p class="western">Kissing Oswald feels like a dream, divine, speculating if he'll wake up and be just that. It's a frightening thought, because he needs this, has been denied of it for so long, Oswald having felt like a stranger when they could've been something else. Nothing in Edward's life has gone the way he'd wanted to, much like it hasn't for Oswald. If they are to have one good thing, please let it be <em>this</em>.</p><p class="western">Oswald draws back, noting how Edward tries to chase his lips but the man doesn't have to wait long before Oswald is back on him, feeling his face being tenderly grasped and the brush of a thumb over the gauze, Edward bringing them closer as he deepens the kiss a touch. Oswald grips Edward's arms tighter, begins to moan when he feels Edward's tongue slip inside, licking at his gums and tongue.</p><p class="western">Edward can taste whiskey.</p><p class="western">Having no painkillers yet meant Oswald could have alcohol, which in itself is partially a blessing, because he knows Oswald would create a scene of not being allowed a drink. On the flip side, however, Oswald remains in more pain until Edward can gather some painkillers.</p><p class="western">Oswald feels like he might have a heart attack, his insides bursting with love, disbelief and anxiety to what is happening, what it all <em>means</em>. He's kissing Edward, his once friend-turned-enemy-turned-ally, coming full circle as they reach friends again.</p><p class="western">Now they're <em>here.</em></p><p class="western">What in the world?</p><p class="western">He puts his own force behind the kiss, wanting to match what Edward is doing that is making him feel <em>like this</em>. Being inexperienced doesn't allow him that pleasure however, not completely, but he tries, conveying his thoughts through his actions as best he can. It's an encouraging sign when Edward moans back. Moving his hands to Edward's chest, his palm comes into contact with something that makes a slight crunching noise, separated by a thin piece of fabric. He draws back, slightly concerned he'd broken something on Edward's possession, and eyes the item in question.</p><p class="western">He'd never noticed it before, tucked away in Edward's pocket.</p><p class="western">Oswald's red glasses.</p><p class="western">“Ed, what-? Why do you have these?” he asks, pulling out the glasses.</p><p class="western">Seeing them sends a feeling of sentimentality through him. He looks at the cracked lens, half of the item not matching the other, no longer a working pair, broken.</p><p class="western">Like their relationship.</p><p class="western">He knows they can never go back to what they once were, but they can move past it.</p><p class="western">“Oh... I found them. I didn't know if they were going to be thrown away or not. I'm- Do you want them back?”</p><p class="western">“You kept them?” Oswald strokes at the frames, eyeing Edward with bewilderment.</p><p class="western">“Well... I figured they were there because you wanted to keep them but... I wasn't sure.”</p><p class="western">Edward isn't as sentimental as Oswald, if much at all.</p><p class="western">“You were worried they were going to be thrown away...”</p><p class="western">Edward averts his eyes, not sure how to answer that.</p><p class="western">“I suppose.”</p><p class="western">Oswald smiles at him, a pang of sadness resting on his heart when he thinks about that of Edward.</p><p class="western">“You're sweet...” Oswald comments, laying down the glasses on a nearby table, not taking his eyes off Edward, acknowledging the hesitant smile and the way his eyes appear a little shocked at the compliment.</p><p class="western">He takes that as a win.</p><p class="western">They spend their night in each other's embrace on the couch, Oswald seated in Edward's lap, the fire next to them their only witness to their soft lovemaking. Touch starved arms, forehead touches and hot breath in a loving first time.</p><p class="western">It was like fate.</p><p class="western">
  <em>'Do you believe in fate?'</em>
</p><p class="western">It seemed it did have different plans for them after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you think. I'm really weak for 5x11 Nygmobs.</p><p>Edit: Reminder that if you're into smut, read <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25559311">Reignite</a> for a much more detailed version of their evening. :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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